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Read poems online at the Deep Underground Poetry Community website, the harder side of poetry. Share poems, plus forums and poets profiles.
Tru_lyfe
She read my poems
She read my poems;
I never let anyone read my writing unless its music but she read it.
I sat in her office in the same seat I sit it every week and I watched as she pulled out the paper with my username and password I gave her. I honestly didn’t think she would use it but she did.
She asked questions of course, for me to define the intensity of my writing, so I did. She didn’t respond the way I thought she would and i am actually glad but if only I knew what was really going back and forth through the hemispheres of her brain as it sent messages back and forth while she...
I never let anyone read my writing unless its music but she read it.
I sat in her office in the same seat I sit it every week and I watched as she pulled out the paper with my username and password I gave her. I honestly didn’t think she would use it but she did.
She asked questions of course, for me to define the intensity of my writing, so I did. She didn’t respond the way I thought she would and i am actually glad but if only I knew what was really going back and forth through the hemispheres of her brain as it sent messages back and forth while she...
1253 reads
3 Comments
ClearmindedVillain
Borrowed time for temporary company
Time had passed and even though you were distant your life was meant to be seen online.
Just to guess it looks like you're doing fine.
Like the end of a good movie everyone left forever satisfied after the last time.
Nobody knew each other enough to cross the line.
Too much of a good thing could end in dark colors.
What if it could happen again?
Risks of it ending different almost forces everyone to stay where they belong.
Not completely caught the escapes over there.
Dangerously good those times left that effect.
Like a tape being played to the end it was...
Just to guess it looks like you're doing fine.
Like the end of a good movie everyone left forever satisfied after the last time.
Nobody knew each other enough to cross the line.
Too much of a good thing could end in dark colors.
What if it could happen again?
Risks of it ending different almost forces everyone to stay where they belong.
Not completely caught the escapes over there.
Dangerously good those times left that effect.
Like a tape being played to the end it was...
729 reads
0 Comments
CruelHandedWriter
Panama Judas
Panama Judas
I don't write love poems
She has addictively soft skin
and eyes that search
and are searched,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She has all the class
when it comes to culture
and all the front
for the rest,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She was by my side
with perfection
when I lost my father
and her body is decorated
with fine pieces of art,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
I believe that she worries,
because of the conditions that we met,
they may be similar conditions
to how we part,
and...
and eyes that search
and are searched,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She has all the class
when it comes to culture
and all the front
for the rest,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She was by my side
with perfection
when I lost my father
and her body is decorated
with fine pieces of art,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
I believe that she worries,
because of the conditions that we met,
they may be similar conditions
to how we part,
and...
2064 reads
9 Comments
waitingforgodet
jim
jim
Fence Sitting Roy
Call himfence sitting Roy.
He's married and plays it coy.
Not happy with his wife
and doesn't have the courage to change his life.
He flirts with women online
and makes dates with them to dine.
Much too afraid to show his face
and never shows up at the designated place.
Like a convictionless dilettante he remains in his purgatory;
Tells himself he's not, but a cheater is he,
and feels a thrill when the woman is stood up
and chuckles to himself as she's on her way to drink from his cup.
He thinks nothing of her pain, of her...
He's married and plays it coy.
Not happy with his wife
and doesn't have the courage to change his life.
He flirts with women online
and makes dates with them to dine.
Much too afraid to show his face
and never shows up at the designated place.
Like a convictionless dilettante he remains in his purgatory;
Tells himself he's not, but a cheater is he,
and feels a thrill when the woman is stood up
and chuckles to himself as she's on her way to drink from his cup.
He thinks nothing of her pain, of her...
1164 reads
4 Comments
ClaireGPoetry
The Hobbyists wife
Palpitations in her chest,she snoops on his pc,
Looking at hiswomen-the kind she'll never be,
She checked into theclinic-diagnosis trich,
Wishing that her husbandput a condom on his dick,
She targets online website, blames Toronto whores,
Begins to write a blog thenpaces stone clad floors,
Her mood starts to fester about the feckless jerk,
So she sends pornemails to the office where he works,
Sheis scorned and vengeful infiltrates the site,
And begins conversing with the ladies of the night,
Learns the way they operate,photos and listings,...
Looking at hiswomen-the kind she'll never be,
She checked into theclinic-diagnosis trich,
Wishing that her husbandput a condom on his dick,
She targets online website, blames Toronto whores,
Begins to write a blog thenpaces stone clad floors,
Her mood starts to fester about the feckless jerk,
So she sends pornemails to the office where he works,
Sheis scorned and vengeful infiltrates the site,
And begins conversing with the ladies of the night,
Learns the way they operate,photos and listings,...
1182 reads
6 Comments
RoyGray
Roy Gray
Roy Gray
Online
Just a one-armed addict
in a male paradise
boasting megapixel resolution
and six degrees of penetration.
At home in a world where
innocence, spread in welcome,
is farewelled with the
most unholy of baptisms.
Am I burned by a beauty unspeakable
in this heart of corruption,
or should I account lost
that which is lost?
The demon always wins;
convulsive, or not at all,
he would have me
squeeze my life into you.
in a male paradise
boasting megapixel resolution
and six degrees of penetration.
At home in a world where
innocence, spread in welcome,
is farewelled with the
most unholy of baptisms.
Am I burned by a beauty unspeakable
in this heart of corruption,
or should I account lost
that which is lost?
The demon always wins;
convulsive, or not at all,
he would have me
squeeze my life into you.
1180 reads
2 Comments
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